For Good
by Acitone
Summary: Wilson leaves "for good." House is broken. House needs to find his friend and apologize, if he ever wants to salvage their friendship. Pre-slash, slash, adult language, and possibly adult content in later chapters. Review please! :
1. Prologue

**For Good**

**Pairing: **G. House, J. Wilson

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **Pre-slash, slash, adult language, and possibly adult content in later chapters.

**Summary: **Wilson leaves "for good." House is broken. House needs to find his friend and apologize, if he ever wants to salvage their friendship.

**A/N:** Hey guys. Just a quick note before you start reading. this is my first FanFiction. So I started off with a prologue. Just to give you a taste of what's going on. Also, if you're expecting something super sappy and romantic, please, don't read past this prologue unless you can deal with a story that's not all sugary and whatnot. I can't stand stories like that. This is going to start out with a T rating, but that might go up in later chapters. Or maybe I'll make a companion to this Fic with an R rating. Who knows? (;

Enjoy.

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><p>Prologue.<p>

It was one- no, maybe two in the morning. Watching old re-runs of General Hospital no longer held any entertainment, seeing as Gregory House could recite almost every word from almost every episode thanks to his late night "habits." Habits being the nice way of putting it. Because really, they weren't "habits" at all. In fact; if it were up to himself, he would be fast asleep. Preferably Vicodin-enduced, to take the edge off the pain in his leg.

But things didn't always work out in his favor, of course. There were many incidents that could prove this. Like the whole ordeal with Stacy, Tritter, the infarction, so on and so forth. Things that shouldn't have to be brought to attention. House wasn't always fortunate. This was a known fact, even though most of his fellows pretended this wasn't the case. To them, he always got what he wanted. Like a child.

To them, he was House, Medical Doctor. Head of Diagnostics at Princeton Plainsboro. Loud, obnoxious, demanding, self-centered, loathing, egotistical psycho that actually knew what he was doing; whether he was aware of the consequences or not. Which he usually was. House was a man who wasn't afraid of taking risks. Sometimes, those risks were taken without having any benefit to himself.

Maybe House was a bastard.

But he had good intentions.

It had come to a point where the man wasn't even paying attention to the footage flashing on the television. It wasn't even comforting in the least, or amusing. He simply sat there. Beer in one hand, with the other on the arm rest of the leather couch. He has had better nights.

This was one of those nights where his sub-conscious wouldn't let him close his eyes. It left him considering, over-thinking, and eventually pinning after something he thought he needed to solve about himself, but wasn't really in need of solving. His brain needed something to configure. To solve, sort, anything to keep himself busy; and there was nothing he could do about except wait until his mind was reduced to fuzzy, black matter, and sleep consumed him.

House straightened and picked up the remote, switching the T.V. off. He removed his shirt and proceeded to lie back on the couch, guzzling the last of his beer. He reached in his pocket and felt around until he grasped a small bottle, rattling it for good measure. Wilson would not be happy with him if he knew he were taking too many pills in one day.

Sighing in defeat, he popped open the bottle and dispensed the few remaining small capsules into his palms and swallowed them dry; making a mental note to ask Wilson for a script. That is, if he remembered when morning came. He was in too much pain to care.

'He's gone. Right.' Sighing to himself, he closed his eyes and allowed himself a bit of sleep for now.

Too much pain.


	2. I

**For Good**

**Pairing: **G. House, J. Wilson

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **Pre-slash, slash, adult language, and possibly adult content in later chapters.

**Summary: **Wilson leaves "for good." House is broken. House needs to find his friend and apologize, if he ever wants to salvage their friendship.

**A/N:** Okay! I'm feeling pretty uneasy with this chapter. It's short, but I'm pretty self conscious when it comes to these things. Please review!

Enjoy.

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><p>Chapter I.<p>

House woke up dazed and slightly confused. Glancing at his watch, or, where his watch should be, he determined it was atleast an hour or so past noon, considering the sunlight peeking through the windows. He looked over at the digital clock on his VCR to confirm his suspicions. 2:07 PM. Great; and to top it off, he had at least one new message on his answering machine, according to the incessant blinking red light on the mechanism.

Sleep didn't seem to want to pack up and leave his hazy brain. Running a hand over his face, House reluctantly sat up; grimacing when he received an answering pang from his leg. Fan-fucking-tastic. He made his way to the machine, pressing the small button next to the blinking light.

_You have: 4 new messages. First unheard message:_

_"House. It's Cuddy." _

Shit.

_"Get your ass over here. We're worried about you. You haven't so much as called since last week. You need to get your ass to work and stop sulking around! Honestly, House. I thought you would at least call in and tell us you're okay." End of message. Next message: "House It's Cuddy-" _Click.

_Next message: "House. Please. it's Lisa. Pick up th-" _Click.

The last thing House wanted was to listen to Cuddy bitch at him.

_Next message: "I know you're going through a rough time, House.."_

_'_Oh do you, now? You don't know half of it, sister,' he thought to himself. Still. He wanted to listen to her heart-felt speech. Good black-mail material. The message went on.

_"I know since James left that you've been... Well. Under the weather, so to speak. I won't elaborate. But please, you need to do your job. You can't sit and pretend nothing happened. Or rather, acknowledge the fact something did happen and do nothing about it but sit and wallow in your depressed state of mind. We need you here to do your job..."_

'Oh _please,_' he thought, scowling to himself. He didn't need everyone's pity. What's done has been done, and there's nothing he could do to change it. His best friend up and left him.

_"...Fine. Take another day off. Or two.. I'll have your team keep holding the fort down in your absence. You have today and tomorrow. Then I'll have no choice but to cut the slack and make you come and do your _job_.. Feel better soon, Greg." End of messages._

Wonderful. By the time he returned to the hospital, everyone would give him sympathetic looks and offer him a shoulder to cry on. House wanted to scream. He wanted to hide. He wanted to drink himself into oblivion. But he wouldn't. For now, he would settle for his piano and soaps.

It was times like these that he wished he wouldn't have made the promise to his former-best-friend to stop trying to drink himself blind to forget his problems; to stop resorting to getting high and being impossibly drunk to solve his personal complications. Because according to James Wilson, things didn't work that way.

And House was too proud to admit that he was right.

Just like he was last week. Too proud to admit the younger man was right.

And he was so terribly wrong.

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><p><strong>AN**: Short chapter, I know. Future chapters will be longer.

Anyways! Next chapter you'll find out what went down between House and Wilson. Oops. Spoiled it. (:


	3. II

**For Good**

**Pairing: **G. House, J. Wilson

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **Pre-slash, slash, adult language, and possibly adult content in later chapters.

**Summary: **Wilson leaves "for good." House is broken. House needs to find his friend and apologize, if he ever wants to salvage their friendship.

**A/N:** Two chapters in one night. I actually had Chapter One saved in my computer, as well as half of this one. I hope this turned out okay. I'm not too good with writing intense scenes like this. Review, please!

Enjoy.

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><p>Chapter II.<p>

_'House. I hate seeing you like this. You know I do. Please, try to do something for yourself. Or let me help.' Wilson pleaded, walking towards the slumped figure sitting at the kitchen table, resting his hand on his shoulder._

_'Go _away, _Wilson. I don't want you here trying to make me feel better. You _know _you can't. You just want to play Saint Jimmy. You think you can fix everyone. But you can't; and you know it. The only reason you try is because you know you can't help _yourself._ So you help others to fill that hole that just won't stay patched up.' House stood up, Jack Daniel's in one hand, cane in the other, and made his way to the bathroom. Wilson trailing behind him. 'Can I take a piss in privacy, or do you enjoy listening in?' _

_Wilson flushed and coughed uncomfortably, walking towards the couch. 'Wash your hands, then come here and talk to me.' House grunted an affirmative. No use in arguing. His friend was becoming more like a parasite._

_The young Oncologist took this time to access the situation. He knew House didn't handle rejection well. Especially since relationships didn't come naturally to him, and was rarely interested in having a serious relationship. When Cuddy rejected him, Wilson saw him walk out of her office with a look he rarely if ever seen before. He loved Lisa Cuddy. Wilson knew this for a fact. He Loved Lisa and she led him on, then rejected him. As far as Wilson knew, House could count the number of people he's loved on only one hand. So when he lost one of those people, he lost part of himself in the process. Cuddy played a big part in his life, and he had lost her._

_Wilson sighed. 'They won't be able to go back to the way it was. She's gone for good.' And she left Wilson to pick up the pieces. Which really wasn't a problem. He scrubbed his face with his hand. He was glad to be here for his best friend, even if House didn't want him to be._

_He knew House would be willing to be comforted; but he had so much damned pride that he wouldn't let anyone near him in this kind of vulnerable state. It was humiliating for the man; and Wilson knew it. Wilson knew more than he let on. But he still had to let House know that it was okay, and he wouldn't leave him like this. That it would blow over. Things would go back to normal in time._

_'What do you want to talk about?' Wilson was suddenly snapped out of his thought process. He glanced up at the diagnostician and gave him a sad smile, patting the seat next to him on the couch. House hesitated for a few seconds, the gradually sat down, resting his legs on the coffee table. He avoided Wilson's concerned gaze. _

_'You know what I want to talk about, House. What happened with Lisa?' He glanced down at his hands. he had to go through with this. Because if he didn't help House, who would?_

_Nobody. That's who._

_It's not like House would go to Chase or Cameron to talk about his problems. He knew damn well he would not go to Foreman. But the thing is, he also knew that they would be just as willing to listen. _

_But they don't care for him like Wilson does._

_They couldn't. It seems like he is the only one who could be as close as he is to House. Wilson knew that wasn't entirely correct. But for the most part, it sure did seem that way._

_'Wilson. I don't want to talk about it. Besides, I'm sure you already know. She probably told you.' He rested his head on the back of the couch, sighing, then taking a pull at his whiskey. He grimaced as it went down his throat. 'I know you're a smart guy. Either she told you or you put two and two together.'_

_Wilson turned to him. 'No. She didn't.' He had to know he was serious. _

_House paused, glancing at the other side of the room, considering. 'She shot me down big time. That's all you need to know.' Wilson frowned and gave a reluctant nod. That was enough for now. He would gradually pull it out of the man, but he knew it was too much to discuss in one sitting. 'Wilson. I know you care. I know you just want me to cheer up. But I can't pretend like nothing happened. I jus-'_

_'House. It's okay. I know. I'm not expecting you to act like nothing happened. You don't have to talk about it anymore.' Setting his hand on House's shoulder, he looked at him and offered a genuine smile. It was small, but enough. He glanced down at the man, gave him a curt nod and stood up._

_'Beer?' _

_'Sure, House. Calm down on the whiskey, would you?' He suggested._

_'Sure. After I'm dead.' House managed to grunt out, throwing a can of beer to his friend. He was satisfied to hear the cracking sound of then can when Wilson opened it. Grabbing one for himself, he limped back over to the couch and plopped down._

_'Doubling down?' Wilson offered him a small smiled and a snort of amusement._

_'Can't go wrong with a bit of beer and whiskey cocktail.' He stated flatly. _

_'Try not to drink yourself blind.' _

_The air was heavy with awkwardness and unasked questions. Wilson felt uncomfortable. Couldn't House at least turn on the T.V.? _

_But they sat in still, sickeningly thick silence. _

_'House?'_

_'Stop.' Standing up, House fumbled for his cane, coordination muddled by the alcohol coursing through his system. 'Just stop it, Wilson. I'm tired of you prying into my business. Just leave.' He turned to Wilson, giving him a look that dared him to protest._

_'But House-'_

_'I'm serious. Get out.' He straightened and grabbed another beer, heading to his room._

_'House, let's just talk about this. I won't force anything that you don't feel comfortable discussing-'_

_'I feel uncomfortable with this whole damn conversation!' Wilson stopped. House was unstable. It was just the alcohol talking; he knew it was._

_'House.' He said evenly. 'I won't leave until you get back over here an-'_

_'-and what Wilson? Spill my heart out to you? Tell you how I royally fucked up again? Peel back all my layers and confide in you? Complain about how I can't be in a relationship with anyone because I'm an arrogant prick? I'm not a fucking bleeding heart, Wilson. Get the fuck out.' His voice was teetering on the edge of yelling. Wilson stood up; and that's all he did. All he could do. He stood there, silently pleading with his best friend to understand his intentions._

_'House. Stop it. I haven't even done anything. I'm your _friend. _I want to be here for you. I know you love Lisa.' He shifted uncomfortably, Feigning interest at the door. Looking at anything but House. It didn't have to be this way. It's just the alcohol. House was drinking what was more than sufficient. _

_'I can't sit here and watch you drink yourself to death. I don't like seeing you hurt, I don't like to be the one to pick up your pieces. Every fucking time House, every time you fall, I pick you up again. It's getting old. I'm not saying It's a chore to help you, House. I'm just saying that I hate seeing you like this, and it hurts me almost just as much to put you back together.' He stared at House evenly, swallowing heavily. A lump formed in his throat and his eyes began to sting ever so slightly. His shoes suddenly became very interesting._

_When he glanced back up, House was practically fuming. 'There you go! Making it all about you. You couldn't possibly feel that bad just from "putting me back together." I never asked for you to fix me, Wilson. The reason why we're friends is because you've never tried to fix me. I don't need fixing. I'm not broken, and I never was. Never will be. You think because I'm sad that the world is crashing down on me, and you just jump at the opportunity to be the good guy. Oncologist Boy Wonder, World's Greatest Friend!" Stunned, James Wilson sat in silence. It stretched for a few minutes, while the older man decided to take that time to slump down on the floor by his bedroom door. He just didn't understand._

_House shot him a stony glance and held is hand up. 'I can handle this myself, Wilson. I don't need you. You might as well just leave. Go get fucking eloped again and leave me alone. Because as long as I'm showing no signs of chronic depression, you are free to go and prance around with some other woman until something catastrophic happens and your instincts kick in; when you find the need to come and offer your shoulder to cry on. And when that's done and over with, you'll run home to screw your wife and start the process all over again.'_

_'Stop prying into my business. My private life. I don't need you meddling and sticking your nose where it doesn't belong. Just because you're the damn Panty-Peeler of Princeton Plainsboro doesn't mean you can come to me and give me your advice for the lacking in your department as far as relationships go.' He was practically shaking. He didn't like seeing House distressed like this. Seeing House, the normally composed, stony, sarcastic, fun bastard shaken up to the point where he had to strain to speak. His voice was barely above a whisper, and it wavered ever so slightly. ' You think I need your advice? Your condolences? Because I'll tell you right the fuck now that I don't. I don't want to end up like you, thrice divorced with a reputation for being the charming, unfaithful, hopeless romantic bastard. _Get. Out_.' He finished with a finality that couldn't be dismissed. He was still overpowering while he was slumped on the floor leaning against the wall. A very thin sheen of sweat forming on his forehead, and he was slightly flustered. _

_It was abrupt. Wilson barely said anything while he was there that night.. But House suddenly snapped._

_Wilson stood, stunned beyond words; fighting between storming out and sitting right beside the man in companionable silence. _

_So his friend thought he was an unfaithful bastard. Okay._

_Pursing his lips, he turned around and walked out of the apartment. Not bothering to close the door._

_'The damn cripple can get it himself.'_

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><p><strong>AN: **Phew! Okay. I hope you enjoyed that chapter, if even a little. Criticism is appreciated. I currently don't have a beta, so many mistakes are expected.


	4. III Intermission

**For Good**

**Pairing:** G. House, J. Wilson

**Rating:** T

**Warnings:** Pre-slash, slash, adult language, and possibly adult content in later chapters.

**Summary:** Wilson leaves "for good." House is broken. House needs to find his friend and apologize, if he ever wants to salvage their friendship.

**A/N:** Good god. I am SO sorry! I'm not going to lie and say the reason I didn't update for god knows how long was because I was busy. Because I wasn't. I'm off for Mid-Winter break all this week, so hopefully I'll be able to sneak in a couple installments. I got a few reviews, which I'm thankful for, and I'm sorry to those that have been waiting for this (If any)! I'm not entirely sure where I'm going with this, so this chapter won't be too exciting. I might write another chapter after this one, depending on how I'm feeling. Also, sorry for this chapter being so short! I'll sort of classify this as a sort of intermission.

Special thanks to: freddy, intrepidfish, cookie, Zeta, Courtney, and Sir Stud Muffin. As well as to all of those who are following this story! I love you all. (:

Enjoy.

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><p>Chapter Three. (Intermission)<p>

He wasn't happy in the least. Leaving House was one of the hardest things he'd ever done. They were "bestest buddies," and now that Wilson _really _thought about it, the only friend he really had. He loved their friendship; it was different than most. At times, Wilson thought it was one-sided, the way House treated him.

But that was just House.

Wilson loved that behind the apartment door, he saw what nobody else did. A different side of him, so to speak. The side of himself he only let out near Wilson; it was a more colorful aspect of the man, if anything. A little more lively, a little more friendly, a little more caring. But not much. Just enough.

That side of House was always locked away, but when the door closed in their apartment, another opened. It timidly snuck out, and shone through dramatically to Wilson. To others, they wouldn't be able to tell. They couldn't see it; inching forward, into the light. It was the little things he did in what was, for a time, _their _apartment.

The way House smiled at him when Wilson did those telltale signs of annoyance or of affection, like put his hands on his hips, or when he would playfully, yet subtly insult him. He really smiled, it was dazzling, really. It was small, sort of uneasy, but it was a real smile. But when he grinned, he knew all was alright.

Although he wouldn't admit it, he knew House was fond of him; he held affection for Wilson. It showed in how House would steal his food, or insult his ties. That glimmer he would sometimes catch, however small, gave him away. Or when House would try to act annoyed, and would glance at Wilson when he thought he wasn't looking, to see his reaction.

But Wilson never brought it up; because if he did, his barriers would go back up, and he would try not to show the signs of endearment. There would be no way back in, despite his efforts. Wilson loved those moments, he held them close for reassurance, to remind himself the feelings he held for the older man; that deep fondness. His best friend. A friendship like no other.

They were perfect together. House could take all he wanted, and Wilson very rarely asked for anything in return. The thing was, was that Wilson was the only person who truly enjoyed House's company. He knew House felt the same way, and he was perfectly fine with that.

After packing his things out of House's apartment while he was sleeping (which was a rare opportunity, seeing as the man rarely got more than 4 hours of sleep), he froze at the door, unable to turn the knob. He couldn't walk out.

He couldn't let all that go to waste.

But he did anyways, and walked out into the cold. Whether the droplets rolling down his cheeks was from the wind blowing in his eyes, or something else entirely;

he knew this was it.


	5. IIII

**For Good**

**Pairing: **G. House, J. Wilson

**Rating:** T

**Warnings: **Pre-slash, slash, adult language, and possibly adult content in later chapters.

**Summary:** Wilson leaves "for good." House is broken. House needs to find his friend and apologize, if he ever wants to salvage their friendship.

**A/N: **Ooookay! New chapter. A slightly longer one, this time, to make up for the intermission. I would LOVE to hear your ideas, guys! Seriously! Don't be afraid to suggest anything (_**HINT HINT**_).** Also, in regards to cookie's review on the previous chapter**, I don't think I'm gonna get into the whole "everybody pity House because he's a lonely bastard." It was his fault (And Cuddy's fault), anyway. I plan to take this story slow, and steer away from all the typical Hilson Cliches, if you know what I'm talking about.

Enjoy.

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><p>Chapter Four.<p>

After informing Cuddy about his resignation, he had stayed in a hotel a couple hours south of PPTH. It was a small, cheap place. He hated it, because everything was so clean. Even the air seemed thin and smelled of cheap polyester and desanitizing spray. He had decided it would be best to unpack his tooth brush, hair dryer, shampoo, and other bathroom utilities; figuring it would mean less scrambling around in the morning. He wasn't sure how long he would be staying in this damned hotel.

His back wouldn't allow him to get a full eight hours of sleep, and the comforter was stiff with use and over-washing. He'd wish he brought a pillow. Something familiar. By bringing a very small amount of things with him, he hoped it would minimize the homesickness that would inevitably override his senses; but it did exactly the opposite. He found himself tracing the sewed patterns on the comforter, listening for the uneven Tap-tap tap of House pacing the floor, the rattle of a pill bottle, or even the cliche soap operas the diagnostician loved so much.

But the silence was unrelenting. The unfamiliar bed, the all-too-clean smells, they were all suffocating him. No matter how much he tossed and turned, he couldn't sleep. This was when he decided he would grab his iPod and listen to some relaxing music. He clambered out of bed and ran his hands over his face, pausing for a moment.

What was he doing here?

He should just turn around now. Grab the few things he'd unpacked and drive back home. To the apartment. To House. But he knew it wasn't a possibility. He couldn't keep doing this to himself. Couldn't let House keep doing this to him.

He shuffled across the room to the small table next to the phone and dug around for his iPod. His bag was a mess. Well... Since he might be here a couple days, might as well unpack everything. Wilson needed to keep himself busy, anyway, seeing as sleep would not invite him in for tea. He unpacked a couple sweaters, dress shirts, ties and dress pants. As well as some jeans and sweat pants, a long with a few t-shirts.

That was when he noticed something odd. A blue sweater. Wilson looked hideous in blue, and that was when he realized he bought this for House. He must of accidentally packed it, thinking it was his in his haste to leave the apartment. Wilson has bought House this dark blue sweater for his birthday a couple years ago, hoping to bring out the blue in his eyes. It wouldn't kill the guy to dress nice once in a while.

On another note, he'd noticed it had been worn. The tag was no longer on. 'That's funny. I don't ever remember House wearing this.' To confirm this theory, he brought it up to his nose and inhaled.

It had definitely been worn. The smell was... well, familiar. It was pleasant. He held it in front of his face, looking it over. He'd never thought he wore it. So when did he wea-

Well. He supposed he could always ask him.

Who was he kidding? He was done with House. There was no going back. He was too far gone to go back now. His fingers brushed his iPod touch, nestled in the bottom right corner underneath all of his clothes. He turned on a playlist consisted of soft, slow jams, and began to organize all he had brought. He would have to pack it all away in a day or so, but he needed to keep himself busy; even if that meant putting himself at the mercy of his own mind.

He supposed he would have to call House sometime. He couldn't keep him in the dark. Maybe he should have left a note or something? Or at least told him he was leaving face to face, instead of leaving the burden for Cuddy to bear.

But then again, this was partially Cuddy's fault. She rejected him; and from what he could gather, it must have been fairly harsh. House probably hated Cuddy by now. But if Cuddy knew House would hate her for being the bearer of bad news, and rejected him, then why did she accept to inform House of his resignation?

Maybe she wanted House to hate her.

But why would she want that?

Maybe to distance herself from him. It was possible Cuddy just needed some space; to end their personal relationships. Keeping it strictly business between themselves. But it was obvious Cuddy loved their banter, witty remarks and arguments. She found House amusing; and she loved the attention he paid to her almost constantly; and they were friends.

Cuddy would be a fool to think she could just pretend like none of that matters anymore.

If Cuddy wanted to end their personal matters with each other, maybe she felt the same way about House? It's possible she just didn't want a relationship with him, in fear it wouldn't work out. If that were the issue, then Wilson could solve things between them.

Wilson could go back. House wouldn't be miserable and brooding; he would need Wilson to be there with him again.

Again? House needed him now.

His friend was in pain. He was suffering right now, and Wilson just left him. At this, Wilson dropped the shirt he was folding.

Wilson abandoned House when he needed his help the most. He just up and left! With no warning!

House was probably at home right now, drinking like mad in a state of massive depression. He was going through a tough time, and Wilson made it even worse. He gave him more a reason to be depressed.

Wilson was supposed to be there to help him, as one of the very few, if only friend he has.

'Oh my God. What did I do? I fucked up big time.' He walked over to the bed and slumped down. He was thinking too much. If only he could sleep.

But what about the times House betrayed him? He couldn't fool himself and say it's just what House does.

He needed a drink.

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><p>It seemed as though things couldn't get much worse.<p>

Wilson had woke up, shooting up out of bed, but immediately regretted doing so when he received an answering call of pain shooting from his head down his spine, making his body shiver. He immediately laid back down.

Hangover. Great.

He had to get to work! What time was it?

That when when yesterday's memories came flooding back to him; but all he could remember after drinking quite heavily was lying in bed; just thinking. He didn't cry last night, but his eyes filled with unshed tears, and he would occasionally have to choke back a sob, which would often wrack his whole body with the effort to restrain it. That wasn't considered crying; Of course not. Wilson would not cry, not for himself.

Wilson would not cry for his friend, either.

He felt guilty. It was normal; but it wasn't his fault he had to leave. It was House's fault. Or more so Cuddy's fault. But he knew that it was building up before the incident with Cuddy. I mean, who could blame him? He was tired of being there for House 24/7. It was stressful; and House often used him for his own ammusement. Besides, it would do him no good staying with House, even if he was all he had.

Which was when he realized he was a selfish bastard. He couldn't just suck it up, even though he knew House needed him; no matter how shitty he was treated by the man. That was just one more thing to feel bad about. One more reason to sit around all day, hung over and depressed.

He didn't want to get out of bed, and thankfully, he didn't have to. He didn't have a job, or a needy friend to attend to. Actually, the thought was rather depressing, seeing as those were the only two things he had in life. He pushed all thoughts aside, because his brain wouldn't allow him to shake away those feelings of guilt and selfishness he felt; and god was it over whelming.

Eventually, Wilson carefully sat up and rolled out of bed, taking some medicine he'd packed (thank god he was prepared). He'd decided today would be a good day to lay down and be a useless piece of shit.

And that was looking on the bright side.

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><p><strong>AN: **Don't worry guys! Next chapter there will be PLOT!


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